


The Brownie Ordeal

by dasakuryo



Series: Between Our Mights And Maybes [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Family Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasakuryo/pseuds/dasakuryo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris may or may not have developed a brownie obsession throughout the years. Barry may or may not have been indulging it along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brownie Ordeal

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Barry might be an eleven year-old boy, but he's an eleven year-old boy with an important task at hand. Or that time Iris and Barry tried to bake brownies and they didn't succeed, not quite at least.
> 
> So... the idea popped up and I just indulged it. My only knowledge of The Flash 'verse comes from the show, and this is heavily influenced by my own headcanons. So yeah, there's that. Nonetheless, thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoy the story :)

"So, do you think we should open it now?"

He frowned and squinted, trying to make out something amidst the steam. The heat and danger of a potential burn, standing that close, made him take a step backwards.

When he turned around his gaze immediately fell on Iris, pursued lips, hands grasping the chair so hard that her fingers seemed to be about to dig into the back. He also took notice of the way her eyes were lit up; it was an odd light indeed —that kind between expectancy and defeat, a halfway from hope to frustration.

He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. Iris moved around in her seat, tapping her fingers on the wooden frame as she lowered her gaze to the floor. Her shoulders slumped down. However, to Barry's surprise, she did not remain still for long. She got up quickly afterwards, and proceeded to saunter her way towards the oven.

She stopped at Barry's side and knelt down to peer inside through the glass. Her frown deepened, her hand pressed one of the small buttons. Judging by her exasperated sigh, the lit lightbulb had not revealed anything, or perhaps had not revealed anything of value.

"I don't get it," she said bitterly, her nose scrunched up when she frowned again, "we followed the recipe but they don't look as they are supposed to," she practically huffed the last part, all while shooting a death glare to the book in question.

"Perhaps we should wait a bit more," Barry offered with a shrug, trying to see a way around their predicament.

He knew that his strategy had had little effect when Iris tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. However, she did not voice her disagreement clearly. Instead, she went for the book, her fingers started tapping on the page. She bit her lower lip and sighed.

"Well, yeah, it does say they can be ready within a certain range of time so—" she complied.

Although Iris wasn't in the happiest of moods and was still overall frustrated, Barry felt a little bit proud that he'd been able to ease her discomfort –at least partly. Iris approached and sat down on the floor next to Barry, who imitated her in turn.

Their eyes were fixed on the steamy glass door. Out of the corner of his eye, Barry caught Iris twisting a coily strand of hair around her finger, absentmindedly. It wasn't long before both of them were tapping their feet on the tiles, or resting their chins on their hands while they waited for time to elapse.

Barry glanced at the clock ticking on the wall.

"Shouldn't we—" he started, but before he could finish he heard the distinctive sound of Iris' rushing footsteps. He kept his fingers crossed as Iris swung open the door.

Iris tossed the toothpick into the bin. Her lips were a thin line; she folded her arms over her chest and leant on the counter. She did not add anything, her gaze lingered for a few seconds on the pile of messy and dirty dishes inside the sink.

"I'll take care of it later, Bar," she sighed, "I am going to take a shower, do you need anything—"

"I don't—think so, don't worry. You sure you don't want me to do the dishes?"

The defeat in Iris face faded a little when she managed a little smile.

"It was my idea, it's only fair that I clean up this mess— and no, I am not accepting a 'but I helped', Bar, so don't try it," the honest, warm smile on her lip faltered slightly.

Barry nodded. When he heard the faint sound of water gushing upstairs and the soft rumbling noise of the central heating system, he grabbed the book and quickly ruffled through the pages. His eyebrows creased, he stared at the recipe, eyes wide in disbelief. He started accounting for each ingredient raising his fingers.

Flour, checked. Butter, checked. Eggs, checked. Sugar, checked. Vanilla extract, checked. Salt, cocoa powder, chocolate; checked, checked and checked. Clearly the ingredients hadn't been the problem.

The temperature of the oven, perhaps? No, it couldn't have been. He remembered that Iris had made sure it was the right one at least three times before they'd started to prepare anything. Then, if they have done everything by the book, how come the brownies had turned out so… unpalatable?

He returned the cookbook to its place, next to the salt and pepper shakers. Still going over the question in his head, he flopped down on a chair and stared at his math homework, still untouched. He tried to concentrate on figures and their formula. He read the first exercise and scribbled down the main data to begin calculating.

"Hey, Barry, I am going over to Lucy's to finish that project for Miss Samuels or else— can you tell dad I am over there? He never picks up."

He was so absorbed in his task that he nearly jolted at Iris sudden interjection.

"Sure. You can get my notes if you want."

Iris pulled a face at him, something bordering on a frown and an amused smile. "Are you still trying to make up for English? Bar, I told you I just read it and suggested that you changed some words and rephrased a few things… it's not a big deal, really." Then the smile was clear and ready on her lips.

Barry would have argued that that was debatable, since he sucked at writing and couldn't keep coherence all throughout the prose of an assignment to save his life —but Iris would surely fight him on that one, too.

She flopped the backpack strap over her elbow, grabbed her keys and kissed him goodbye on the cheek, before hurrying to the door and disappear in the middle of a hushed goodbye, as she swung shut the entrance door.

Barry sighed and resumed his work. He carried on doing his homework in between frustration, crossing out results and erasing incorrect operations. It wasn't until he returned to the kitchen for a glass of water that the brownie issue returned to his mind, when he glanced at the little bags of powder sugar that remained untouched on top of the microwave.

Suddenly, finding which were the side measurements of the triangular corral that ol' farmer Steve had to build for his hens was relegated to second place in his list of priorities.

He sprinted upstairs, scribbled a note on a post-it for Joe and clutched his bag on his way out. Okay, he might not have that much pocket money, but he was sure it was enough for a few ounces of real cacao powder.

If he was quick, he could definitely finish baking them before Joe arrived and, more importantly, before Iris came back from Lucy's.

* * *

 

Barry couldn't hold back the grunt, or the exclamation with colorful language that followed either, when he finished cutting the cooked batter into squares. They had turned out just like the previous ones had. Granted, perhaps the flavor was not as sweet, but they did not taste anything like Joe's —or his mum's brownies, for that matter.

"Hey, Bar, did Iris say when she was coming home 'cuz I'd better start making dinner," there was a sudden pause as Joe's footsteps came to a halt, "what's this mess?" the man's usually calmed and collected voice went up an octave at the sight before him. Barry looked up to meet the puzzled expression etched to the man's features, raised eyebrows and wide eyes, an accusatory finger pointing at the collection of dishes on aisle, almost all of them dusted with flour —yeah, apparently one has to mix the ingredients a little bit before turning on the blender so the flour does not fly everywhere. Begginer's mistake.

"I _tried_ to bake some brownies," Barry prompted, his voice low and thin.

Joe's eyebrows rose higher and the wrinkles on his forehead multiplied. He sighed, pinched at his nose bridge but then, when he looked up, his expression had somewhat softened. Well, Barry did stress the fact he'd attempted to bake the brownies, try being the key word.

And as soon as Joe seemed about to speak, they both heard the creak of the door opening. Before either of them could add anything, Iris was already in the kitchen. Her gaze went from her father to Barry to the plate full of brownies, and then back at Barry.

"Barry! What did you do?!" her tone was an amused one and even had the reminiscence of laughter; there was even a shadow of a smile on her lips.

Barry cleared his throat and muttered a hushed repetition of his previous statement. When he looked at Iris, he found that the girl was beaming at him. She actually even giggled.

"Shouldn't we try them then? What do you say Iris?" Joe proposed, patting his daughter briefly on the shoulder.

Iris nodded in agreement and stretched out her arm to grab one, but before her fingers could even brush the plate, Barry clutched it from the opposite side and pulled it away from her.

"They didn't turn out well," he said as Iris stared at him confused, "I don't know what I did wrong again but—"

"Again— wait, how many times have you kids tried to bake these brownies?" Joe interjected Barry's explanation.

Neither Joe's voice nor his expression gave away that he was angry at them. Nonetheless, maybe because out of unjustified fear Barry found himself listing what they have done and what might have went wrong; he overheard Iris trying to explain herself too —she kept saying something about the whole thing being her idea, that Barry had merely went along with it because she insisted.

"Hey! Hey!" Joe raised a hand and his voice to make himself heard above them, at that both children voices gradually died out, "I'm not mad at any of you two here. I am asking 'cuz we have to go to the grocers tomorrow, remember? I need to know if we have run out of anything… so we can get everything and bake them together, okay?"

Barry nodded and Iris squealed, before throwing herself to hug her dad. Barry couldn't help but smile at the scene, and it wasn't long before dimples appeared on his cheeks, especially after Iris grabbed him to pull him into a group hug with Joe.


End file.
